


In One Another's Being Mingle

by infensi_floralibus



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: A little fluffy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infensi_floralibus/pseuds/infensi_floralibus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard was my friend, my husband, my lover, and our interests were the same. His secrets were mine to keep and I never felt more loved than when he first trusted me with his all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In One Another's Being Mingle

**Author's Note:**

> When Richard III's bones were found in Leicester it was discovered that he suffered from adolescent idiopathic scoliosis; this means that between the ages of ten and thirteen his spine would have begun to twist, we don't know why but it is possible that it was hereditary - what we do know is that he wasn't born with it, rather it developed. It would have eventually caused a raising of the right shoulder, a slight protrusion of the rib cage and possibly have led to difficulties in breathing. It is therefore remarkable that Richard became so adept a soldier, as he was also found to have been very slight in build. It is thought likely that it would have developed over a period of time and so the Richard portrayed here is only half way towards the spinal condition found in his grave.
> 
> I have so far not seen any fictional writing beyond Shakespeare that seems to address his condition and I think it would be nice to see an interpretation of how he lived with what would have been a limiting ailment, but not a physical deformity of the magnitude portrayed by out good friend Will.
> 
> This is but a fleeting glimpse as to how Anne may have felt about it.

It was a long ago spring at Middleham that I first discovered Richard was not as invulnerable as he would have people believe. He had been practising his tilting with a lance at the quintain, but having hit the target he did not move fast enough to avoid the sweep of the sandbag as it swung around to hit him squarely between the shoulder blades. The young duke had been knocked from his horse and had to be carried back to his bedchamber – his face a terrible ashen grey. This was not unduly worrying in itself, at one time or another most of my father’s wards had fallen foul of the quintain, and the physician had declared that he did not believe Richard’s shoulder blade to be broken; however, for reasons not explained to me the physician continued to visit my cousin at least once a month, long after any bruising should have healed.  


One morning I spied the wizened old man leaving Richard’s chamber whilst speaking to my father in a grave tone, too low for me to hear; what was clear however was that he was trying to mollify my father, his hands spread out before him in a gesture that said the situation was beyond him. I felt a small spike of fear in my lower stomach, as shocking and real a sensation as snow down my back, for whilst I was too young to feel anything more than a childish adoration for Richard, I was terrified at the thought of his life being in peril.  


I could not approach my father to question him about it there and then but was forced to seal my lips until I was summoned to the solar that evening to bid my parents goodnight and receive their blessing. In the intervening hours my feverish child’s mind had concocted a hundred dreadful fates for my dear cousin so that, quite unlike my usual self, I asked to be taken to the chapel where I knelt for almost half an hour, a considerable time for so small a child, and begged the Holy Mother to intercede on my behalf and spare Richard’s life. I offered my eternal gratitude, even promising to never say a cross word to Isabel again – an exceptionally solemn oath.  


When I was presented to my father in front of the great roaring hearth I knelt as usual to receive his blessing, but rather than his warm hand on my head I instead found him lifting my chin to better see my face.  


“Your nurse tells me you asked to visit the chapel today...were you there to confess your sins or is there some misdemeanour I should know about?” His face was serious, but I could tell from his tone that he was amused by my little display of piety.  


I swallowed nervously, knowing that I might receive a box to the ear for prying into his affairs, but was desperate enough to risk it,  


“I was praying for my cousin, Richard.”  


“Was there any particular reason for you to do so?” Father was openly smiling now, I was too young to understand it but I knew that he encouraged and was pleased by any affection between myself and Richard.  


“I have seen the physician visiting him often these past months, I was praying for his health.” I spoke these words quietly to the carpet, unsure and perhaps a little embarrassed. There was near silence for a moment, the only sound being the crackling of the fire and the snore of one of father’s large hounds, during which I held my breath anxiously. My disquiet was protracted until I heard the low chuckle in my father’s chest and felt his large calloused hands raising me by my upper arms so that he could look me in the eye.  


“You have a tender heart Anne, but if you worry over every little ill it will soon become bruised.” He reached for his wine goblet and drank deep, smiling to himself behind the finely crafted silver, before tucking a stray whisp of fair hair behind my ear and saying, “but you need not fear, your cousin will make old bones yet, he is simply experiencing the growing pains that many young lads go through. It will pass soon enough.” I smiled slowly, not wishing to make a scene by expressing my relief too obviously, Izzy was only across the room speaking with mother and I already feared that she might repeat my expression of worry to Richard or one of the other wards such as Francis Lovell. It did not occur to me at the time to doubt what my father said; it was only years later that I questioned the truth of his words.  


***  


Unwillingly, not even acknowledging it to myself, I continued to watch Richard, monitoring him for any sign of deterioration in health. At first, aside from the visits from the physician, there was nothing to hint at him being anything less than in the peak of fitness, but soon I began to notice the cracks in his finally polished veneer. When practicing sparring he often partnered with Francis Lovell, for they were well matched in ability, but more often than not it was Francis that conceded the match, giving in just when he seemed to be victorious. I slowly grew to realise that Francis was also aware of something being wrong with Richard’s shoulder and was subtly attempting to slow him down, willing to throw a match if his friend appeared to be tiring so that Richard would not push himself too hard – as was his way. Richard’s high regard of his honour bordered on pride and he was willing to injure himself rather than admit he was struggling. This silent act of friendship endeared Francis Lovell to me for the rest of my life; I never forgot that he was willing to help Richard even when it was against his own interests.  


I did not speak of what I saw to anyone, excepting God when I gave thanks for Francis Lovell’s friendship, until one Christmas when we were all at King Edward’s court. Richard no longer lived with us at Middleham; he was now old enough that he resided with his brothers at court. I had missed my cousin dearly and was overjoyed to be invited to ride out with him. The hack itself was uneventful; George and Richard showed Izzy, Francis, Rob Percy and I around the great royal park, dusted as it was with a fine layer of snow. We rode until we were all flushed with our exertions and laughed at how our breath fogged before us, the sweat on our horse’s flanks cooling rapidly in the winter air. It was only the fading of the light that drove us back to the palace, and as we rode home Richard moved his horse to fall in step with mine.  


“How are you finding Christmas season here at court?” he asked. It was an innocent question between childhood friends but his small smile and steady gaze on my heated face made my stomach buzz as though I had drunk an entire bottle of the expensive sparkling wine my father imported from France.  


“I like it well,” I replied in what I hoped was a demure voice, trying to remember the advice Izzy had given me on the subject of impressing a young man. A demure voice had definitely been on the list.  


“It is good to see you after so long, you have grown taller I think.” I nodded, but all the while regretting that I whilst I had grown taller, unlike Izzy, I had not yet softened with womanly curves. We continued speaking all the way back to the stable yard, swapping small pleasantries as I tried in vain to think of something to say that he would think worthwhile. As he jumped down from his mount I noticed him wince upon landing; I did not immediately think anything of it, he may have simply jarred his knees. I did however blush profusely when he offered to help me from my horse. I unhooked my right leg from the pommel and slid with as much grace as I could into his arms. As usual things did not go as I hoped and rather than elegantly dismounting I almost landed on him as I slipped from the saddle. This time he definitely winced, even betraying himself with a small hiss of discomfort.  


“Oh goodness, I have hurt you!” I exclaimed, my face flaming with embarrassment.  


“No, no,” he assured me, “I am fine.” His words said one thing but his pained expression betrayed another.  


“Heavens! I am so sorry, is it your back?” He suddenly stiffened beneath my fluttering hands and his face grew distant. If I believed in such things I would have said that his eyes did darken to a thunderous grey.  


“I beg your pardon?”  


“Your back, I remember that it does pain you sometime-” I fell silent as he stepped away from me, all appearance of friendship or intimacy instantly falling away.  


His voice was cold, although there was an intonation of something else that I couldn’t quite name, as he said, “I do not know what you speak of cousin. I assure you that I am as fit as ever.” He gave me a small perfunctory bow before leaving me in the care of George and Rob, and I couldn't help but feel that I had offended him somehow.  


We did not speak until the next day when he offered me a seat beside him at the dining table, and I knew that whatever crime I had committed had been forgiven.  


For the rest of the Christmas season I watched for other signs of his ailment, wondering if I had completely misread the situation. At first I was sure I had, but then I began to notice the small rolls of his shoulder he only gave when he though no one was looking. I began to see how he would stretch subtly half way through a meal, like a man who had ridden all day when he feels his back begin to stiffen; and I saw how he would allow his right shoulder to rise faintly above the other, his face smooth as though this was the more comfortable position for him.  


I noticed all these things little things but never did I speak of it, for I never wished to see him look so coldly at me again.  


***  


So much passed between us over the intervening years that the matter faded into insignificance for me; I became the daughter of a traitor, the bride of the enemy, and finally the jaded survivor of them both. If his back restricted him in battle he never mentioned it, and whilst caught in the hurricane of emotions and fears brought on by a covert love affair and subsequent marriage, I never once stopped to think about it.  


But just because it was no longer on my mind, it did not mean it was not on my beloveds. The night of our wedding was one that began with anxiety for us both. It was only under Richard’s gentle hands that I began to loosen and my limbs that had always been rigid during previous intimacies learned to melt. The tender brush of his thumb across my jaw halted the grinding of my teeth and the careful pressing of his lips to mine allowed me to breath easily again. He came to our marriage bed understanding that I was fearful, that like one of his young colts I must be given time to trust him, to learn that he meant no harm. I however could not have imagined that my new husband would be anything but full of York’s legendary confidence when he came into my arms. As I slowly looped my arms around his neck, twisting my fingers in the soft curls there, I felt him tense almost infinitesimally within my embrace.  


He must have seen the question in my eyes for he sighed and rested his forehead against mine as he mustered his words within him.  


“Oh, Anne,” he whispered finally, “forgive me for I have deceived you.” I went rigid with apprehension but didn’t speak, allowing him to explain himself even as I feared the worst. “I shouldn’t have married you without telling you what you were uniting yourself to. Do you remember, long ago, when we were still almost children and you asked if my back ailed me?”  


“Yes,” I breathe, pulling back to look him full in the face, my breath tight within my chest. It was not for me that I was anxious, I couldn’t imagine there was anything that would make me regret my choice to wed this man, but already I worried for him.  


“I did not wish to admit it then... but it is true...” for a moment he was tongue tied, searching for the right words that would not frighten me off, “my back as ailed me for a long time now, since I was almost eleven....it- it has not grown as it should.” Richard’s face was betraying his embarrassment, flushing as dark as a Lancastrian rose. “That is why I am shorter than my brothers.” He was staring intently down now, not meeting my eye. I took his face between my palms and brushed back the mass of inky curls as I whispered earnestly,  


“That matters not to me.” I had long seen that he was not only shorter than George and Edward, but he was also slighter; his muscle was lean on limbs that could appear sometimes as slender as a woman’s.  


“I have consulted both physicians and priests, and all agree that it is nothing to be alarmed by,” he assured me, and I couldn’t resist as small laugh.  


“Oh Richard, I have loved you so long you could tell me you had an extra arm and I don’t think I could love you less for it.”  


“Truly?” he asks almost hesitantly,  


“Truly” I reply with as much conviction in my voice as I can muster. He stares at me for a long moment with his large, piercing blue eyes, as though attempting to peer into my heart and find the truth, before he takes one of my hands from where it has come to rest on his shoulders and guides it to his lower back. His skin is hot beneath my still nervous hand and as he prompts me to move my fingers up his spine I begin to count each bump as it passes beneath my finger pads. I stop when I feel the bone veer off from the path I expect it to follow and I can sense him staring at me intently, trying to read my thoughts for my reaction.  


I suck in a deep breath before murmuring, “May I see it...you?” He hesitates before pivoting slowly and revealing to me the secret he had wanted so much to keep from me all those years ago. I marvel at the smooth skin, the sweep of freckles along his shoulders, but most obviously the serpentine curve of his spine.  


It is like nothing I have ever seen before and I cannot deny that it does perturb me a little; I trace it with my index finger and feel him shudder slightly beneath my touch.  
“It pains you?” I ask,  


“Sometimes, when I have ridden for a good deal of time, or if I sit still for too long...at times it makes it harder to catch my breath...” he trails off as I embrace him from behind, pressing my face to his curiosity and wrapping my arms around him so that my hands do meet on his stomach.  


This is my silent message of acceptance, but when he does not respond more than drawing in a shuddering breath I step around him so that he can see that there is no revulsion in my face, that he need not fear my rejection.  


“I cannot tell you how much I have feared your disappointment,” he whispered, wrapping me again in his arms.  


“We don’t have to be afraid anymore, Richard, for now we have each other.”  


That night as we rocked together, our bodies working as one to build a slow growing pressure between us, I found my hands roaming the plane of his back; brushing with growing confidence his spine and shoulder blades. As my husband moved above me his eyes were intently on mine and our gasps came as one, surprised exclamations of delight as though we were both virgins just beginning our journey into this foreign, heady land of pleasure. When the pent up pressure in my loins spilled forth I gave a cry of surprise, never having experienced anything like it, certainly not in the bed of Edward of Lancaster. I clutched Richard by the shoulders, lost for words, as I marvelled at how my blood had been replaced by champagne and stars. Sudden happiness as bright as fire flamed within me and a feeling of victory such as I had never experienced before brought the widest smile to my face.  


“Anne?” Richard whispered breathlessly, just a hint of concern darkening his brow. I smoothed back his hair and brought my hands to rest on his shoulder blades, fingers splayed as I lay claim to what was now mine.  


“I love you,” I whispered fiercely, “all of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Finally an attempt at fluff. Do let me know what you think.
> 
> I'm currently half way through The Sunne in Splendour, and thoroughly enjoying it (incidentally I just found out by pure coincidence that it was my grandmother's fav. book. Perhaps it runs in the family.)


End file.
